


Baking With Aziraphale and Molly

by Eigon



Category: Good Omens (TV), Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Gen, Internet friendship, cakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:15:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26619556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eigon/pseuds/Eigon
Summary: When Aziraphale started baking during Lockdown, he decided to go online to find some new recipes, and found a new friend.
Relationships: Aziraphale and Molly (Rivers of London)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 62





	Baking With Aziraphale and Molly

It wasn't that Aziraphale couldn't get to grips with modern technology – it was more that he didn't see the need, and he needed to use techology so rarely that everything seemed to have changed the next time he tried to use it.  
During Lockdown, though, he soon ran out of new recipes to try from the cookery books in his shop and, with slight trepidation, he decided to go online to find some new ones.  
What he found was a whole online community of like-minded people, swapping recipes, sharing stories of their triumphs and disasters. It was really quite delightful.  
For a while, he contented himself with just pressing the little heart under a picture when he liked it. But there was one picture of a cake that looked so scrumptious that he could almost taste it through the computer screen. One little heart was not enough to praise it. 

He frowned slightly as he worked out how to send a comment:

AZFell to MollyFolly: What a wonderful cake! Is it your own recipe?

MollyFolly: It is Polish. One of the builders gave me the recipe. It is called Karpatka.

Aziraphale looked it up. The creamy filling was straightforward enough, but he'd never tried choux pastry before. When he'd finished it, he sent MollyFolly a picture:

AZFell: I'm sure it doesn't taste as nice as yours, but I'm quite pleased for a first attempt.

MollyFolly sent a little heart.

MollyFolly: It is quite straight forward until you add the eggs. That can take practice. I already knew how to make eclairs. Only the filling was new to me.

AZFell: I like eclairs!

AZFell: [photo of eclairs]

MollyFolly sent a little heart.

MollyFolly: [picture of profiteroles] These are also easy to make when you have mastered choux pastry.

AZFell: What a very good idea!

AZFell: [photo of profiteroles] I really feel I'm getting the hang of it now!

MollyFolly: [photo of tiny cakes, baked in bottle tops] 

AZFell sent a little heart.

MollyFolly: My sister is making a doll's house. I am trying to be encouraging – she won't let me help any other way.

AZFell: They are delightful, my dear. What's the recipe?

MollyFolly: These are carrot cake.

Aziraphale had to admit to some curiosity about MollyFolly, but he was uncertain about how to ask for any further details about her life. He knew that she lived in a house where Polish builders had been working, and he knew she had a sister, but that was all.  
It occurred to him that she knew nothing about him, so maybe it was time to volunteer some information and see where it led.  
Accordingly, he baked a Black Forest Gateau and took a photo of it with a backdrop of a bookshelf in his shop:

AZFell: This was taken in my bookshop in Soho.

He had forgotten that he was not corresponding only with MollyFolly. He spent a rather irritating couple of days fending off queries from other users of the website, such as "Do you ship?" and "Are you on abebooks, or AntiqBook?" or "Can I have a copy of your catalogue?" To all of these he explained that he did not sell his books online, or by post, and that he did not have a catalogue. The only way to buy from him was to visit his bookshop (hours irregular) and in cash, because he didn't have a card machine either.  
Eventually, though, the irritating questions died down, and MollyFolly sent a little heart.

MollyFolly: [photo of banana cake, with a background of a bookshelf] This was taken in our Library.

Aziraphale squinted at the background of books with great interest. From what he could see, the books had all been published before the Second World War, and seemed to be on a variety of occult and magical topics. Which was interesting. He wondered if MollyFolly was interested in those subjects herself, or if they had belonged to some aged relative.

AZFell: What interesting books! (and what a lovely looking banana cake). Do you read much?

He thought that was probably a safe question to ask.

MollyFolly: I do not read these books. These are for my gentlemen.

Well, that was cryptic. Aziraphale was torn between seeming rude by pressing MollyFolly for information, and actually finding out what she meant. At last, he sent:

AZFell: ??

MollyFolly: I cook for Mr Nightingale – and Mr Grant.

Poor Mr Grant seemed rather tacked on as an afterthought.

AZFell: Ah! So you are in service, then?

He instantly regretted sending the message. It would be unfair to expect her to answer such a prying question. As he was contemplating a suitable apology, he got the answer:

MollyFolly: It began so, when the Folly was a gentlemen's club. Now it is just Mr Nightingale and the people he works with. A short time ago, I was catering for over 30 people, so I was too busy to bake. And there were the builders, from whom I got so many interesting recipes.

Aziraphale was delighted that Molly had answered him. It was relatively easy, from the clues that she had given, to look up the Folly online. It had, indeed, been a gentlemen's club – not like the one he had such fond memories of, but dedicated to the study of the magical arts. Strangely, it also seemed to be a police station. It was in Russell Square, which was not so far across London from Soho.

AZFell: Maybe we could meet for tea sometime? And share recipes? Or cakes?

This was obviously a step too far for Molly.

MollyFolly: I never go out.

AZFell: Oh, I'm so sorry. 

He sent her a photo of a red velvet cake, to cheer her up.   
Molly sent a little heart.

MollyFolly: I am baking for the local homeless shelter on Thursday. The van to collect the cakes will arrive at 2pm. Perhaps you would like to bake something for them, too?

AZFell: What a splendid idea!

Aziraphale arrived at the front doorstep of the Folly just after 1pm on Thursday, with his cakes carried safely in old biscuit tins. He had spent the previous afternoon in the kitchen, and had produced another red velvet cake, a Karpatka cake, an angel cake and a Victoria sponge.  
A smart young black man in a jacket and tie opened the door. Aziraphale beamed at him. "Hello. I'm Mr Fell. Molly invited me. I've brought cakes!"  
The young man invited him into the marble tiled entrance hall. "Molly invited you?" he asked, as if this never happened. "I'll just call her," he said. Then he paused, and added: "You haven't met her before, have you?"  
"We met online," Aziraphale confided in him.  
The young man – Mr Grant – left him in the entrance hall. He had a slightly odd expression, somewhere between amusement and concern.  
Aziraphale looked around – there was a bust of Sir Isaac Newton on display, but very little else. He was aware, however, of quite formidable magical defences for the building – which was interesting.  
A few moments later, a tall young woman glided silently into the entrance hall. She was wearing a full Edwardian maid's outfit, with her long hair cascading down her back to her waist. She had high cheekbones, and large eyes, and there was something about her appearance that was not quite human.  
She smiled when she saw Aziraphale, and pointed to the biscuit tins.  
"Yes," he said, "I brought cakes!"  
She beckoned him to follow her, and led him into the atrium. This was a room that took up the full height of the building, with a Victorian style glass dome on top, and was filled with a scattering of comfortable chairs and small tables, many of them quite obviously antiques. Mr Grant was sitting at one of the tables. He had a book open in front of him, but he wasn't reading it. He watched Aziraphale cross the floor after Molly.   
The kitchens looked much as they must have done before the First World War, but Molly was obviously well accustomed to using vintage equipment – the kitchen table was piled high with cake boxes. She indicated that Aziraphale should put his cakes with the rest that were waiting for collection.  
"Would you like to see them first?" he asked. He was beginning to understand that Molly did not (or possibly could not) speak. Maybe that's why she never went out.  
She nodded, and he took the lids off the tins to show her.   
While she was making tea, the door opened again. A small, disreputable black and white dog appeared. Aziraphale bent to pat him, and looked at his collar tag. "Hello, Toby," he said. "He looks like the dog of a small friend of mine," he added, to Molly.  
She made shooing gestures, to keep Toby away from the cakes. His tail was wagging hopefully, but he slunk into the corner where his basket was when she gave him a Look.  
When the door opened again, she looked as if she were about to shoo the newcomer away as well, but it was only Mr Grant. "Just came to see if there's any tea going," he said. "You two getting on all right?"  
"Quite splendidly, thank you," Aziraphale said. "I must say, Molly is very good at baking."  
Mr Grant grinned in agreement, and patted his waistline.   
He passed close to Aziraphale to get round the kitchen table, and suddenly did a double take. He stepped back, as if he was getting into a clear space for combat."What are you?" he asked. "You're not a wizard, but I don't think you're human, either."  
Aziraphale had noticed that the young man was a wizard as soon as he had opened the front door. He had, after all, met some of the more famous wizards over the centuries, including Isaac Newton, whose bust stood in the entrance hall. A strange man, but his experiments with optics had been fascinating.  
He hadn't expected Mr Grant to be quite so perceptive about Aziraphale's celestial nature. Not many people noticed that on first acquaintance. Nor had he expected Mr Grant to view this as a threat. The young man was fully prepared to defend the Folly, and Molly, against a Principality.  
Aziraphale allowed his halo to give a gentle golden glow. "Be not afraid," he said gently. "I can assure you I'm not a threat."  
Mr Grant frowned, and lowered hands that had been raised in the first stages of casting a spell. "What – 'Be not afraid'? You're not going to tell me you're an actual angel, are you?"  
"I am, indeed, an actual angel," Aziraphale confirmed. "Erm, semi-retired, as it were. And you are a wizard, and unless I'm very much mistaken, Molly here is a Fae."  
"You leave Molly alone," Mr Grant warned, beginning to raise his hands again.  
"My dear boy, I have no intention of harming Molly," Aziraphale said. "We've been sharing cake recipes!"  
Mr Grant laughed. "I just thought – folklore usually says that the Fae are soul-less – I don't know how true that is. I thought it might matter to you."  
"Molly is obviously an unusual Fae," Aziraphale said. He turned to her. "You wouldn't be living here, otherwise, would you?"  
Molly inclined her head in agreement.  
"Well, I won't pry into the reasons," Aziraphale said, "and if you didn't have a kind heart, I wouldn't be here bearing cakes. I think kindness is the important thing, don't you?" The golden glow around his head disappeared, and he once again appeared to be a harmless and slightly eccentrically dressed book dealer. "I'll have that tea now, if it's brewed, Molly."  
She poured for him, into one of the best china tea cups. Mr Grant got a very ordinary mug, but he also got a small plate of biscuits, so Molly was showing that she appreciated the way he had tried to protect her.   
Aziraphale pretended he didn't notice when Mr Grant slipped one of the biscuits under the table to Toby. He did notice when Mr Grant slid the plate across towards him, to share the biscuits, and took a piece of shortbread with a pleased smile.  
At that moment, there were the sounds of a van pulling up outside. Molly headed to the back door.   
"That'll be the lady from the homeless shelter," Mr Grant said.   
This proved to be a stout lady with very dark skin and a very wide smile. They all spent the next five minutes helping her to load the van. Toby wove in and out of their legs enthusiastically, so the loading operation took a little longer than it would otherwise have done without canine assistance.   
She drove off full of thanks to Molly and Aziraphale. "I hope we'll be seeing you again," she said. "Molly's been so kind-hearted and generous, and it's nice to see she has friends who share her interests."  
"It's time I made a move, as well," Aziraphale said, as they returned to the kitchen. "Thank you, Molly. I'm so glad to have met you at last. This has been a most interesting afternoon."  
"Will you be visiting again?" Mr Grant asked. "I'm sure Mr Nightingale would like to meet you."  
"If Molly would like to invite me again, I'd be delighted, dear boy," Aziraphale said. He paused thoughtfully. "I understand you have a Library here," he went on. "I have a bookshop in Soho – antiquarian mostly," he added hastily, in case Mr Grant should get the wrong impression. "If you ever need to add to your collection, or indeed, sell any of them, I would be most interested to help."


End file.
